Breakfast in the county

When I was 14 years old and dreaming in that obscure teenage way about my possible life as an adult, I had a recurring fantasy about being a restaurant reviewer. I would travel to New York City. Switzerland. Tokyo. And France, of course France — all of it. I would work for glossy magazines and write about famous chefs and bakers and alpine cheesemakers. I would eat in restaurants big and small, in cities and in rural villages and in completely improbable remote locations. The latter, likely inspired by reading Heidi, a story I believed was mostly about the therapeutic powers of bread and melted cheese. Being a food writer was only ever a dream — a fantasy. In my final year of high school when I announced that I wanted to go to journalism school, my father, an engineer, forbade me. “Become an engineer,” he said, “or at the very least, do a science degree.” I did as I was told and spent four years analyzing water samples in the ecology lab. I was interested in a halfhearted sort of way. In my spare time, instead of studying, I cooked and baked and experimented with recipes. The kitchen became my laboratory — the place I taught myself to make perfect omelettes, homemade bagels, French onion soup, and the best banana cake on the planet. I studied the alchemy of ingredients. There is, I discovered, equal measures of science and art to cooking. Home cooking, as it turns out, both my own and the home cooking of others, is my favourite food of all. It’s private, intimate, bonding: the food of our primal urges. It feeds our hunger for connection, for authenticity, for belonging. The food we grew up with, the memories of tastes of our childhoods, drive us all forward in ways we are scarcely conscious of. So when I found myself around the breakfast table eating and bonding with a group of strangers at Black River Bed & Breakfast in Milford, Prince Edward County, I wasn’t that surprised. I’d gone to the county for a couple of nights on a solo, midweek getaway. I took my laptop but never plugged it in. Didn’t see a television. Instead, I walked the back roads, scavenged rocks on empty beaches, picked rare butternuts, read my book, and watched birds, including a family of swans on the river and pileated woodpeckers at the birdfeeders hanging off the front porch of the B&B. Black River B&B is the surprise retirement project of former Royal Ontario Museum employees Conrad Biernacki and Brian Musselwhite. When they packed up their long-term Toronto careers, their beloved home in the city, and their substantial collections, including furniture, books, art and porcelain, for life in Prince Edward County, they hadn’t imagined running a B&B. They kept the phone number of the former owners, though, and when the inevitable requests for overnight stays came in, they decided to let destiny take its course. Four years on, with a multitude of renovations behind them, Black River B&B has gained a well-deserved reputation and a steady, repeat clientele. The house is solid, gracious, blissfully quiet and immaculately clean. It sits on acreage on the banks of the Black River, just a stone’s throw from where the river meets Lake Ontario. It’s the breakfast, though, that defies all expectations. One recent visitor left this testimonial: “Breakfast will ruin anything you experience elsewhere. This is an over the top gourmet experience. You cannot buy this breakfast ANYWHERE!” Conrad cooks. Brian cleans — career paths that, after years at the ROM, they could never have imagined. On morning one, after a surprisingly good sleep, I arrive unprepared for a three-course breakfast. The table is set and there are carafes of excellent, strong coffee and glasses of juice. The starter is a local fruit compote, followed by homemade pecan waffles served with maple syrup and bacon. We finish with rhubarb crisp. Everything possible is organic and local (or at the very least, locally sourced). The maple syrup and fruits all come from the county, the bacon, eggs, honey and jams are from neighbouring farms. Conrad cheerfully caters to all food allergies, diets, intolerances and sensitivities. Nothing daunts him. He apparently enjoys the challenge. Brian is in the kitchen, quietly washing dishes. A couple from Guelph have brought along their kayak. Another couple from Toronto have brought their bicycles. After breakfast they head out on a 95-kilometre bike ride. At night, we gather in the living room and talk over county wine. On morning two, we all regroup for breakfast. This time we’re having skewers of county-grown fresh, ripe fruit, followed by a vegan white bean and avocado toast accompanied by some smashing sausages from just down the road (for the non-vegans at the table), and for “breakfast-dessert,” a glorious, artistically perfect, chocolate banana cake made with coconut sugar. It’s the single best breakfast I’ve ever eaten — the avocado toast puts every other avocado toast I’ve ever eaten to shame. And we lucky recipients, unknown to each other just two short days ago, linger at the table for ages, talking, laughing and drinking coffee. Food is a way in — a powerful means of connection. And this happy communion of individuals, this beautiful breakfast cooked with care and love — all of this — is exactly what I imagined when I fantasized about being a food writer all those years ago. For more information (including guest testimonials), visit Black River Bed & Breakfast at www.bbcanada.com/4109.html. Lindy Mechefske is the award-winning author of Sir John’s Table and A Taste of Wintergreen. Watch for her new book, Out of Old Ontario Kitchens, out September 2018. Contact at lindymechefske.com.